Protective
by Yuu no daikon
Summary: As it might be the last chance he's got, Sherlock confesses one of his biggest secrets to John. But because of an unexpected turn of events, he is forced to stay in London and the atmosphere between him and John becomes somewhat weird. Contains JohnLock.
1. Protective

**A/N:** This is my first story in English, so if you spot any mistakes, I'll be more than happy to fix it :)

This story contains JohnLock (love between two men), don't like - don't read.

The story also contains spoilers for those who haven't seen the episode "His Last Vow", the third episode of the third Sherlock season.

Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

**Protective  
**

John Watson stared at his best friend. After all the dangers they've been through, the years of solving tricky mysteries together, and this was the end of it. At a windy runway, their magnificent adventure would come to an abrupt end. This was their goodbye.

A moment ago, they had already tried to say their goodbyes to each other, but they both didn't find the right words. How do you bid farewell to the man who've saved you loads of times, both physically and mentally? Suddenly, Sherlock cleared his throat, preparing to speak.

"John, there's something I should say, I've meant to say always, and I never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now." There was a pause. John looked into Sherlock's eyes, trying to figure out what he was thinking but, as always, it was impossible. He was as hard to understand as he'd always been.

"John..., I love you"

John didn't feel the cold wind finding its way though his clothes anymore. He didn't feel the gazes of his wife and Mycroft, standing by the airplane. He looked into Sherlock's eyes, and finally, he saw. He could see it all; the pain, the possessiveness, the panic, the helplessness. But above all that, a warm hint of something new to his eyes. Care.

"Sherlock, you were supposed to be on that plane five minutes ago, hurry up, will you?", Mycroft suddenly shouted, overpowering the howling of the wind. Sherlock, who had turned his head to face Mycroft, turned his head back again. Without any further explanations or confessions, he held out his hand to suggest a handshake.

"To the very best of times, John", he said in a composed and formal manner. John, whose mind had become completely numb, absently shook Sherlock's hand, unable to say anything, and watched as he scurried over to the plane and disappeared through the doorway. The plane lifted, and he was gone, just like that.

Mary walked over to John, taking his hand in her own, resting her head on his shoulder. John didn't feel the need to tell her what Sherlock had said, not that he could talk about it anyways. He was simply too stunned to even notice his surroundings. They didn't know how long they'd been standing like that, watching the plane disappearing further away, until Mycroft suddenly got a phone call. He listened to the caller in silence, and frowned.

"But that's not possible. That is simply not possible". He turned to look at John, who finally snapped out of his numbed state. He took a step towards Mycroft.

"What's happened?"

Mycroft sighed heavily and looked at the plane, which had turned into a dot in the sky. He turned his head back to John and said a sentence which sends shivers of both fear and, though very little, anticipation down John's back;

"Moriarty seems to be alive". Then he dialed a number on his phone, and walked further away to talk in private.

"But you told me that Moriaty was dead", Mary said, turning to John.

"Absolutely. Sherlock faced him on the roof of Barts, and he shot himself in the head. They found him later, when they had...when they had taken Sherlock's body away", John cleared his throat to try to conceal his voice cracking at the end of the sentence, but he suspected that Mary had noticed it anyways. Suddenly, he became aware of an engine noise that was growing stronger and stronger behind him. He turned around and saw that Sherlock's plane had come back, preparing to land on the runway again.

"With Moriarty on the loose, I couldn't risk sending away the only consulting detective there is", Mycroft said, suddenly standing beside John, with a hint of a smirk on his face.

The plane landed and the door opened.

**Two months later**

"Have you heard from Sherlock lately? You haven't been visiting him since the day at the runway", Mary suddenly said, giving John a cup of tea.

"No, I think it's best to let him deal with Moriarty alone", John replied. "I don't want to put either you or myself in any unnecessary danger, and Moriarty is definitely one of the most dangerous men I have met"

"...I suppose so, but you should really talk to him. I don't know what he said to you at the runway, but he left you looking very perplexed"

"Fine, I'll go there today", John sighed. He knew that he would have to talk to Sherlock sooner or later, but he still didn't fully understand the whole situation.

"Hello dear, good to see you! You haven't been here in such a long time. I'll prepare a good cuppa for you", Mrs Hudson exclaimed when she opened the door at 221B Baker Street. She let him in and he went up the stairs to the flat with so many memories. Downstairs, he heard Mrs Hudson prepare the tea, just like always. He opened the door, and was hit with a foul smell.

"Sherlock? 'You here?", he asked, taking a step into the flat. Nothing in particular had changed. It was a bit messier than he remembered, a little dustier, and then there was the smell. Mrs Hudson appeared behind him in the stairway.

"He hasn't let me in to clean, and you know he won't clean himself". She frowned and walked into the apartment, careful to not step on the books lying about. To put the tray with teacups down, she had to move a big pile of paper scraps from the coffee table to the floor.

"Isn't he here at the moment?", John asked, looking into the kitchen.

"He hasn't gone out. Check in his bedroom, he's probably still asleep. He's developed a bad habit of sleeping until noon", Mrs Hudson sighed and shook her head.

"Isn't he working on the Moriarty-case?"

"No, he's not. Detective Inspector Lestrade visited him many times, begging him for help, but he refused"

"Refusing an intriguing case involving Moriarty? That doesn't sound like him". John walked over to Sherlock's shut bedroom door and knocked on it. When he got no reply, he knocked again.

"Go away, Mrs Hudson, I told you to not enter the flat!"

"It's me", John shouted back. He could hear the sound of bed sheets falling to the floor and the shuffling of tired feet. Suddenly, the door was yanked open.

"What do you want?". Sherlock's face were mere inches from John's, intimidating and strangely unfamiliar. John took a step back to look at Sherlock. He was hunched, not his usual proud self. He also had stubble and pajamas that looked like he had been wearing them a long time.

"I came to talk to you", John replied, after being confused by Sherlock's lack of personal hygiene.

"Boring", Sherlock said and shut the door again.

"What do you mean 'boring'? And how is sleeping not 'boring'?", John shouted, infuriated.

"I'm not sleeping, I'm thinking"

John gave up and walked out in the kitchen. The closer he came to the sink, the stronger the foul smell became. He looked down in the sink to find a moldy mess of something unrecognizable.

"Mrs Hudson, do you know what this is?", he asked the landlady, who were throwing out old magazines. She came over to the sink, looking down.

"Oh dear! I have no idea what that could be, but we should probably not stand here and inhale it. Could be one of Sherlock's experiments."

"But he hasn't been himself lately, has he?", John asked, worried about Sherlock's condition.

"No he hasn't. It's not just the Moriarty-case he refused, he doesn't take on any cases anymore. He's just lying about in his bedroom, not doing anything"

"He said that he was 'thinking'"

"That's just a bunch of nonsense! Both you and I know that he can think just as well when he's doing mundane chores, he doesn't need to confine himself in his bedroom for that"

"So what is he doing then? Could he be planning something?", John asked, glancing towards Sherlock's closed bedroom door.

"He's probably just sulking, dear. But do come and visit more often, you haven't been here for months! Sherlock would appreciate having someone to talk to"

"Hmm... I doubt that", John said, glancing at the closed door again.

"Oh, I almost forgot, here's your tea", Mrs Hudson said, giving John a cup of, now lukewarm, tea.

"Thank's, but I don't think I'll be staying any longer. Need to get home to Mary", John said and put the cup down on the kitchen table. Then he left, despite Mrs Hudson's disappointed look.

"How's he doing?" was the first thing Mary asked when John stepped into his flat. He sighed heavily. The last thing he wanted to think about was that bloody stubborn Sherlock Holmes!

"He's doing all right, just being his usual grumpy self", he said in a bitter voice.

"Oh, I thought you two were on good terms. Especially if you compare with how his is towards other people", Mary took John's coat and hung it on the coat hanger.

"Yes, I thought so too, but that has apparently changed"

"Maybe he is just a little cross with you for not talking to him for so long"

"He faked his own death and disappeared for two years without telling me that he was alive! I don't think I'm being unfair for leaving him to take care of himself for two months, especially after he told me...", John stopped in the middle of the sentence, suddenly being very occupied by a loose thread on his shirt.

"After he told you what?", Mary asked, trying to catch John's attention.

"Hm, it's nothing", John mumbled, picking at his shirt.

"You're a very bad liar, John. What did Sherlock tell you?"

"He didn't tell me anything, Mary. It's not important!", John looked up to meet Mary's concerned and doubtful eyes.

"If it's not important, why don't you tell me? Maybe what he told you is not important to you, but it is to him, and that's why he's cross at you"

"He probably doesn't care anymore. And he hates me now for sure", John pushed Mary away and sat himself down in an armchair, thinking about his favorite armchair at Baker Street. He didn't see it when he visited. Maybe Sherlock had gotten rid of it, just like he seemed to be wanting to get rid of John.

"Do you want some tea?", Mary called from the kitchen.

"No thanks, I'm fine", John replied, thinking about how much he was not fine.

"There's been a break in at Downing Street!", Mary exclaimed the next morning, while reading the paper.

"What happened? Did they steal something?", John leaned over the table in an attempt to see the article.

"No, nothing appears to have been stolen. Weird, why break in and just leave?", Mary put the newspaper on the table and took a bite of her toast. Suddenly, John's phone started ringing. He looked at the screen. It said "DI Lestrade".

* * *

To be continued...


	2. Stubborn, as always

"What's happened?" John didn't even care to greet Lestrade as he answered the call, because a call from him could only mean one thing; trouble.

"Have you heard about the break in at Downing Street yet?", Lestrade asked, sounding a bit breathless. John thought that he must have been in a great hurry.

"Yes, Mary and I are reading about it right now. In the paper, it says that there's no reason to worry"

"That's the official statement. We're only saying that to keep avoid panic. But you've already guessed it, haven't you?"

"It...it does sound an awful lot like Moriarty's doing", John said, praying that he was very wrong.

"Yeah, that's what we also thought. So you probably understand why we don't want the public to know. It took a lot of time and effort to trick everyone into thinking that Moriarty's 'did you miss me?' was just a mean prank by some bloke, so imagine what could happen if people got to know our suspicions now", Lestrade said, obviously very stressed out.

"Yes, I understand that, but why in the world would you call me on this matter? I'm not particulary good at detective work", John said irritably. There was a pause and Lestrade didn't say anything. Right when John was about to hang up, he started speaking again, a bit confused.

"But I thought you knew about the situation with Sherlock. He refuses to help us, and you're the only one who have met Moriarty as much as he has"

Suddenly John remembered what Mrs Hudson had said the day before. That Lestrade had asked Sherlock for help, but that he refused.

"Well, this is utterly ridiculous! I will go to Baker Street right now and force him to help you. He is putting people's lives in danger, for god's sake!" John sighed, angrily.

"Good luck with that", Lestrade chuckled. "Give me a call later and tell me if you've been able to change his mind". He hung up, and John finished his breakfast while muttering things like 'bloody stubborn consulting detective' and 'selfish prick'.

John arrived at Baker Street half an hour later. He knocked harshly on the door. A few seconds later, Mrs Hudson opened.

"John, are you here again? I told you to come see Sherlock often, but maybe not every day". She sounded irritated, but John could see that she was secretly smiling.

"Is Sherlock upstairs?", he frowned.

"Where else would he be, dear?"

John stomped his way up the stairs and knocked harshly on the door.

"It's probably unlocked!", Mrs Hudson shouted from downstairs.

He pressed down on the handle an the door flew open.

"Sherlock?", he called, knowing that the idiot detective could hear him perfectly fine even though his bedroom door was shut.

"SHERLOCK!", he called again, walking over to the shut door. But before he could lift his hand to knock, the door was opened.

"I thought I made myself clear yesterday", Sherlock said, looking slightly annoyed. But that was all John could deduct from his expressions.

"Well, tough. Because I will talk to you whether you like it or not", John made himself clear, and before Sherlock could close the door again, he put his foot between the door and the door frame.

"I could crush your foot if I wanted to"

"Yeah but you're not going to do that. Because you, Sherlock Holmes, you are going to listen to me for once", John said, pointing accusingly at the dark haired man. Sherlock raised one eyebrow as if to say 'I'm listening'.

"You are going to help Lestrade in the Moriarty-case"

"Nope"

"Yes you are! You used to love chasing after him! You used to love chasing after any criminal at all, as long as the case was interesting! You would shout 'it's Christmas!', do a little jump, and happily follow Lestrade to wherever the crime scene would be located!", John shouted at Sherlock, not caring that he was less than a meter away.

For a long time, Sherlock didn't say anything. He just looked at John with a blank expression on his face.

"So, what do you have to say for yourself?", John said, after being a bit bothered by Sherlock's lack of words.

"Tell Lestrade that he's on his own this time. And I ask you kindly to not come here again".

With those words, he shut the door. John could hear his footsteps and the creaking of springs as he got back to bed. John suddenly felt very defeated.

"I am actually worried about him", Mrs Hudson said as John was sitting in her kitchen, ten minutes later. She poured him some tea.

"I know that he is a grown man", she continued, "but he's always been taken care of by someone. Before, it used to be his brother, but since he moved here, I was the one who fed him, cleaned his flat, and did his laundry. And you has been of great help too".

"Yes, yes, I know. And I know that he's supposed to be clever and all that, but when it comes to housework or socializing, he's got the capacity of a two year old. He's not that well-off on his own".

"So would you please help him?", Mrs Hudson begged, sitting down on the kitchen chair, staring down in her teacup.

"I'm trying to, but I can't do anything if he shuts me out all the time", John complained.

"Anyways, I need to leave now. I have to tell Lestrade that Sherlock still is as stubborn as ever" he said and left.

John went straight to Scotland Yard. Lestrade told him to call, but he needed to discuss it to him in person.

"So you're here without the freak this time. That's unusual"

John turned around to see Sally Donovan with a smug grin on her face.

"I need to speak to Lestrade. Do you know where he is?"

"Yeah, he's right over there", she said and pointed towards the printer. Lestrade was currently trying to get the printer to work, but he failed miserably. When he felt he was being watched, he turned his head and looked at John.

"Hello John, I didn't expect you to come here. I'm actually a bit busy today"

"I can see that", John sarcastically remarked, and nodded towards the printer. Lestrade blushed in embarrassment and gave up on his fruitless attempts to get the bloody machine to work.

"Is he worse, or what is it?" Lestrade led John into his office, probably so that Donovan wouldn't eavesdrop and come up with annoying comments. He offered him to sit down, and did the same himself.

"I don't think that he's worse than he was yesterday, but his behavior is bothering me. He's never acted like that before, and his is pretty consistent in his personality".

"You mean the sarcastic comments, the insults and the witty remarks?" Lestrade wondered, frowning.

"Well, he's still a bit like that, but he's changed somehow", John said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Lestrade didn't say anything for a while, then he got up from his chair.

"I think that you need to get out in the field a bit. Still got that job of yours?", he asked.

"No, it was a bit too... dull"

"I understand, and I have the perfect offer. We've been lacking in forensics lately, and with your knowledge...?", Lestrade began, knowing that John would get the hint.

"Hmm... I don't see why not", John said, shrugging. He secretly thought that it would be kind of fun solving crimes again, although it would be more fun if Sherlock were there too.

"Great, what do you say about starting now. We have a crime site in Camden, and I'm going there right now. Wanna tag along?"

"Sure"

"Where have you been all day, sweetie? You could have given me a call", Mary said when John returned home in the evening.

"I got a job", he said and smiled. He was immediately hugged.

"That's great! I'm so happy for you! Where is it?"

"At Scotland Yard. And before you say anything, no it has nothing to do with Sherlock. I just wanted to get out a bit, not sitting in a boring office all day". Mary gave him the amused smile which meant that she didn't believe him.

"So it's not because you hope that he will come back and solve crimes with you? Why don't you just talk to him?", she caressed his arm and looked like she was pitying him.

"I've tried talking to him! And no, I honestly don't think that he will drop his weird attitude and help Lestrade just because I'm working there now", John frustratedly said.

"Maybe not. Congratulations to the job!", Mary said, changing the subject. She hugged him again, although it was a bit tricky because her big belly was in the way.

"I want to spend more time with you though. The baby could be on its way any day now", John said an smiled. He looked into Mary's eyes, the woman who loved him so much. And he loved her.

"Don't you worry about me", she stroke his hair. "Worry about your grey hairs instead", she chuckled and went back to the living room. John muttered something about that he definitely didn't have any grey hairs.

A week passed and John was doing his best to adapt to his new job. The job itself wasn't very tough, but he had to work with Donovan and she kept making irritating remarks. He had already known that she wasn't really a fan of his, but he thought that her constant sarcasm was getting ridiculous.

"So you're here again? 'Thought you couldn't work properly without that freak hovering around you."

"Donovan, stop it already!", Lestrade snapped. But John knew that it wouldn't help. Donovan could finally pick on him, without getting quick retorts from Sherlock.

John sighed and continued to examine the body lying on the ground. The only information he was able to get without an autopsy was that he had been a male in his 30's, been of good health, that the cause of death was by choking, and that he had died around noon at that same day. The peculiar thing was that he was lying in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, and further investigation showed that he had been put there after his death. And that, very shortly after he was put there, he was found by a group of teenage boys. The police had been interrogating people throughout the whole day, and they watched the security camera tapes from all the shops nearby, but no one saw who put the man there, and the security videos didn't show anything either. It was like he had appeared out of thin air.

"Have you found anything else?", Lestrade asked, quietly begging that John would have found the answer to mysterious case.

"No, sorry. Molly should take a look at him, maybe she will find something".

"All right. You're free to go home now", Lestrade gave John a tired smile and walked over to the rest of the police force.

"Mary, I'm home", John called when he came home. He waited for a few seconds, but he got no answer. He felt the panic fill him like he was showered in ice cold water, and he ran inside the kitchen, not bothering to take his jacket off.

"Mary?", he asked again, not finding her anywhere. He ran into the living room, but still no sign of her. Finally, he found her in the bedroom, fast asleep. He looked at his watch and shockingly realized that it was half past midnight. A pang of guilt hit him as he realized that she had probably waited up for as long as she could, before the fatigue took over. He looked at his phone, and true enough, seven missed calls from her. He had shut the phone off, not wanting it to bother him in the investigation, but he couldn't have imagined that he would be working so late. Before walking to the kitchen for a night snack, he kissed her forehead and quietly promised her that he wouldn't do something like that to her again.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. I made you a cuppa", Mary gently woke John up the next morning.

"Mhghh", John mumbled in an attempt to greet her a good morning.

"I let you sleep in today, because you came home so late yesterday. And it's Saturday anyways", she gently stroke his forehead.

"I'm so sorry for not calling you. My phone was shut off", John sat up, grabbing the cup of earl grey tea, quietly sipping on the hot beverage.

"I fell asleep quite early anyways", Mary said, but John could tell that she was lying.

"You're pregnant, I'm the one who needs to take care of you, not the opposite", John gently kissed her before getting up.

"No, of course you need to be at work. Or you'll get fired", Mary took the empty tea cup from him and put it on the bedside table. "There was something I was supposed to tell you", she pondered.

"What?", John asked as he got dressed.

"...I can't seem to remember. Must be the pregnancy-hormones talki...oh, right! Mrs Hudson called yesterday night. She said she needed to talk to you about something" John looked up, suddenly worried.  
"What's happened? Did she say if it was urgent?", he asked, his trousers only half-way on.

"I'm not sure, but I think it has something to do with Sherlock, somehow", Mary looked just as worried as John felt.

"...But I won't go there now. I'm sure is not that serious", John said, after a few seconds of thinking. He had promised Mary that he would take care of her and spend more time with her, so he couldn't run off every time there was something else going on. She could probably sense what he was thinking about, because she said:

"John, I really don't mind. You've known him longer than you've known me"

"Yes, but he's not my wife!", John immediately regretted his choice of words, because Mary chuckled heartily, just as anyone did when a relationship between him and Sherlock was implied.

"All right then, but you could at least give Mrs Hudson a call, because she seemed a bit worried", she walked out of the room, taking the teacup with her.

"Hudson", Mrs Hudson answered with a steady voice.

"Hi, it's me, John", John replied.

"I'm so glad you've called! Did Mary tell you to?", Mrs Hudson immediately sounded a lot happier.

"Yeah, but the only thing she said was that you called because of Sherlock."

"Yes, I'm very, very worried about him", she answered, her voice trembling a bit.

"What's he done now?"

"Yesterday afternoon, he went out. He said that he was going to buy some milk. But he hasn't come back since"

"What?!"


	3. Thinking about him

**A/N:** Thank you so much for your nice reviews, and thanks to all the people who have read the first two chapters, it really means a lot to me!

And sorry for making John and Sherlock so cross with each other :P They will get along later, promise :)

Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

"But did you go look for him or something? Did he act strange before going out?", John asked, a quickening stream of panic flowing through him.

"He's a grown man John, I thought that he would be able to find his way back to the flat without my help. And isn't going out to buy milk a very strange thing for Sherlock to do?"

"That's it. This is the last of his daft shenanigans! I'm calling Mycroft", John said, sternly. He knew that the only person who could really make Sherlock listen was his brother. He usually mentioned somebody called Redbeard, but John had no idea who that was. It sounded like some sort of code or a made-up name.

"But dear, we really shouldn't bother him. He probably doesn't know where Sherlock is either", Mrs Hudson doubtfully said.

"Mrs Hudson, Mycroft is the government! If Sherlock is still in England, Mycoft knows where he is!" John was quickly losing his patience, being very eager to punch Sherlock in the face as soon as they would find him. He hung up and dialed the number to Mycroft. Before he could hit the 'call' button, Mary spoke.

"Are you calling Mycroft now? Is that really a good idea?"

"Christ, why is everyone against the idea of calling the missing persons brother?", John threw his hands up in the air to act out his frustration.

"As you know, they are not the best of friends. And isn't this Sherlock's normal behavior?", Mary carefully took the phone from John, looking as if she was afraid that he would throw it across the room. She put it on the kitchen counter. Then she walked over to John, slowly embracing him.

"Don't worry about Sherlock. You don't have to babysit him anymore", she said in a soothing voice, muffled by his sweater. "Everything is going to be alright, just focus on your life now."

* * *

"You look a bit tired", Greg remarked the next morning.

"Thanks", John replied, sarcastically.

"Sorry, meant nothing bad with it." Lestrade took a sip of coffee and dragged himself over to his office and closed the door. John sighed. There was not much for him to do this particular day. Molly was still investigating the bloke they had found the other day, and John preferred not to bother while she was doing her job. So all that was left for him was to hang around the office, waiting for someone to go mental and become a murderer. He sure as hell hoped that he himself wouldn't be that 'someone'.

"Tired, are we?" Anderson asked, bothering John with his mere existence. John just looked at him patronizingly.

"I know, I know, it's not really fun sitting around here all day. You could go help Molly", Anderson said, probably trying to apologize for the fact that he was an offensive git. Or so John hoped at least.

"Don't want to bother her"

"She probably gets lonely, you know."

* * *

So there he was, sitting beside Molly as she intensely watched something through a microscope.

"Is there anything I can do to help"? He asked politely.

"Not right now, thanks", she said in her soft voice, not even looking up from what she was doing. He thought that it would be weird to stare at her, so he got up from his seat and walked around in the lab.

"Could you fetch me a petri dish?" Molly broke the silence so suddenly that John did a nervous little jump.

"Sorry", she said, shyly smiling. John gave her the requested item and the awkward silence was once again back.

"Have you-"

"How is-"

They both looked at each other for half a second, trying to let the other speak.

"You first", John offered.

"I-I was just wondering how Mary is doing. With the pregnancy, you know"

"She's great, really. The baby is coming any day now, but she is really well".

"That's nice to hear. What did you want to say?", Molly fiddled with the petri dish, dabbing a cotton swab on it.

"Have you seen..., no, never mind." John changed his mind. Worrying wouldn't do any good. Molly looked at him, as if she understood his situation, and then she turned her eyes to the petri dish again.

"You can go home if you want to, there's nothing interesting to do here anyways. The police don't catch many killers or find many victims nowadays", Molly said. John immediately knew what she meant by 'nowadays'. She meant the latest months, without _him_.

"It's nice to keep you company, though", John said, sitting down again.

"Thanks. Not many people bother", she smiled at him.

"It was Anderson's idea, really." John decided to give Philip the credit for this one.

"That's thoughtful of him. I didn't think he cared."

"So how's things going with...ehm...Tom, wasn't it?"John felt a bit embarrassed for not remembering Molly's fiancees name.

"Well, we broke up. It wasn't working." Molly looked helpless, and defeated. John was sincerely sorry for her, because she really deserved happiness.

"I'm sure you'll find the right one", he tried to cheer her up. She looked up from the experiments and looked the former army doctor straight in the eye.

"I already did. But he doesn't love me", she said.

And suddenly, John's thoughts wandered to the place and time he tried to forget. The windy runway. Sherlock's eyes full of care. The quick pounding of John's heart as he had tried to guess what Sherlock was thinking, but it had been impossible as always. Sherlock's baritone voice saying the words that had haunted John's dreams ever since. The words that John would never even dream about coming out of Sherlock's gorgeous mouth. 'John..., I love you'.

"I...I'm sorry, but I have to go", he said, heart pounding as if he was experiencing a nightmare.

"Okay John, see you", Molly said. She obviously saw that something was wrong, but she didn't mention it. It was between John and Sherlock. It was _always_ between John and Sherlock.

* * *

John stumbled out of Barts. Unintentionally, he looked up at the roof, as if expecting to see his best friend standing there once again. Just the thought of it made his knees weak with fear and powerlessness. Without thinking, he phoned Mary.

"Hi sweetheart, what's the matter?" Mary knew that John would only call her in the middle of work if something was seriously wrong.

"I...n-no, not really", John said, coming to his sensed. Surely, he couldn't tell Mary what Sherlock had said on that fateful day.

"John, don't let him bother you when he's not even around!" Mary definitely knew what was up.

"I'm outside of Barts", he said, his voice cracking at the end. He really wondered what was wrong with him, because he definitely didn't cry a lot.

"Come home instead, you know what that place does to you." Oh yes, he knew. Looking over at the spot where he - a few years earlier - had hovered over his friend's dead body feeling very devastated, he felt his head turn foggy and his hands tremble. He was really losing his grip, wasn't he?

"I'm on my way", he said with a flat, emotionless voice, and hung up. Then, he took a taxi home.

* * *

"Sit down and rest, sweetie", Mary welcomed him home.

"You are pregnant!", John protested.

"Yes, I'm aware of that. Now, sit down."

John reluctantly did as she said because, ex army doctor or not, when Mary gave him orders he would do as she said. Mary strolled in with a cup of earl grey; John's favorite.

"Now", she sat down, "Tell me what's troubling you?"

John exhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You know what's troubling me", he said in a strained voice. Mary smiled at him and urged for him to continue.

"...there's something wrong with me", John finally said. No, he didn't say it, he whispered it. He was hoping that Mary wouldn't hear, but she did, of course.

"There's nothing wrong with you", Mary fondly said.

"Oh but yes, there is. How is it that every time I hear that bloody detective's damn name, my world comes crashing down because I'm afraid he's done something incredibly stupid again? Why do I even care, he's not part of my life anymore? He has moved on, and so should I!"

"Shh, okay John, it's okay, you don't have to shout. Sit down, please", Mary hushed and walked over to her husband, gently pushing him back into his comfortable armchair. John hadn't even realized he had been standing up.

"I'm sorry", he mumbled.

"It's alright. And it's normal behavior to worry about one's friends."

"Now you're just sounding like my psychotherapist."

"But it is, I can assure you. I phoned Lestrade, he will be here in a few minutes", Mary said, very rapidly.

"You...you did what?!"

"John. My dearest, sweetest John. You need to talk to a friend, an old friend. Not your wife", she smiled and patted him on his healthy shoulder.

"He's my boss!", John snarled.

"And your friend."

* * *

"So you're saying that you phoned me just to go have a pint with John?", the DI raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"Why not?", the army doctor's wife smiled wholeheartedly at Greg.

"Alright, alright. We'll be off then", he turned to John, who put on his coat and made his way out the door.

"This better be worth it!", John whispered to Mary as Greg called for a taxi.

"It is, now, off you go", she hugged him and went inside again, closing the door behind her.

"You're a very lucky man, you know that?", Lestrade asked, holding the cab.

"Yeah, I know"


End file.
